Reflection
by solista
Summary: Maria Lancer reflects on her actions.


Reflection

Re·flec·tion

1. Careful thought: careful thought, especially the process of reconsidering previous actions, events, or decisions

2. Cause of blame or credit: a cause of blame or credit to somebody or something

The failure of the experiment is no reflection on you.

-re·flec·tion·al, adj

Encarta ® World English Dictionary © & (P) 1998-2005 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

It was early evening when the ebony haired young woman placed the laundry basket on the table. She sat down with a tired sigh and looked across the small room to the child asleep in his cot by the fireplace.

He rolled over in his sleep and the wooden horse fell from his hands onto the floor.

'Dios', she thought, 'such a beautiful nino', he had her ebony hair and lighter skin than herself, he even had a cherubic smile on his lips as he dreamed the dreams of a child.

Where had her dreams gone to, when had her fleeting childhood vanished. She was not even into her twenty-third year of existence, she felt used up, abandoned by life.

Her dark eyes took in the sparse room; everything she owned was here in this one room adobe house. Her hijo lay on a pallet under a threadbare blanket, her own bed, at least it was a true bed, had fresh straw and clean sheets... 'He' would make sure of 'His' comfort.

Placing her elbows on the tabletop Maria laid her forehead against her clasped hands, as if in prayer.

Prayer was for misguided fools...she had been raised a proper Catholic chica and she had tried to live that life, but her spirit would not bow down to the restrictions of religion.

"Without deep reflection one knows from daily life that one exists for other people" Albert Einstein.

Her Poppa was her world; she woke each morning to bask in his love for her. He was strong, loving, and restrictive and self righteous, still she loved him and still rebelled.

She had been young, but her mind was made up to have her way. They, her familia, sent her to an even stricter Catholic girl's school, and she rebelled. Biding her time she fled one night like a thief in the dark, she took only a few pieces of clothing, a little money and her defiance. She had just turned eighteen... it was now or never. Her Poppa had come to her today to tell her of her up coming marriage.

Marriage... it was not something she wanted now... she wanted freedom, a chance to choose her own path... a chance to live.

Therefore, she fled and even now, she runs... she had yet to find what she wanted... this existence; she raised her head and looked around her, was not what she had in mind.

It was not so long ago... less than a year that she could have had it all, a fine hacienda, one or two servants, a loving man to call husband.

Tears began to form in her dark eyes; shaking her head, she dashed them away before they fell over her cheeks. No, she would not think on that, to dwell on something she could never have again would only drive her loco.

Pulling a worn shirt from the basket she held it out, it had once been new... the best quality of fabric... the best money could buy. If only she had listened to her momma about stitching a fine seam, of running a household... if... there it was again.

Folding her ninos shirt she shook her head, no ifs only now's. Finishing her chore, she stacked the clothes on a small table, that done she stood in the middle of the floor, hands on hips.

He would be home soon, he promised a night of dancing, a fine meal at a cantina and a surprise. With a light step, she was almost skipping to stand in front of her wardrobe and opened the door.

What to wear for such a special occasion... it had been a full year since her flight from an unhappy marriage. Promises may not have been kept; she still tingled from the excitement 'He' gave her. The red dress tonight, perfect.

"Muy bonito, Momma," the sleep tinged, small voice said as she twirled in the middle of the room, her red dress conforming to her curves.

Stopping she smiled down at the little angel. His dark hair sleep tossed to stand out in beautiful curls around a round caramel colored face... the brilliant blue eyes catching the gleam of the lamp light as his little fists rubbed the sleep from them.

She swept over to him, leaned down to pick her hijo up, and held him on her hip... "You should be dormido mijo."

His plump arms wrapped around his mother's neck, he nestled his face in the crook of her neck. She smelled so good, and her arms comforted him.

He had the dream again of a tall man... being carried on a big horse... strong-arms around his little body, "Poppa?"

Maria stopped her dance, "Your Poppa will be here soon..."

Pushing his head up from his mother's breast his blue eyes stared in to her brown ones, "No Momma, Poppa grande..."

Murdoch Lancer, again... she would never be free of him, "Nino you have a new Poppa, he loves you so much. Now you go back to sleep, Cara will come to sit with you."

She laid the boy back onto his cot and tucked the blanket around him, "You must be a good boy and Momma will bring you a surprise."

"Si Momma, Johnny bueno. Noche, Momma," his quiet voice said to her as he turned on his side and closed his eyes.

"_**Without reflection, we go blindly on our way, creating more unintended consequences, and failing to achieve anything useful." **_

_**(Margaret J. Wheatley)**_

Maria stood looking down at her small son, and had troubling thoughts. Did she do right by leaving a loveless marriage... yes? Did she do right taking her child from the father that unconditionally loved his son...maybe not?

But that was neither here or there. A soft knock on the door announced the arrival of the baby sitter.

Smoothing her skirts Maria opened the door, "Cara, good... I am late. El Nino is asleep again; he should give you no problema. I will be late."

"Si Senora Maria, I will watch el nino until you return. You look very beautiful tonight, a special occasion, si?" Cara moved from the doorway as Maria grabbed her shawl, "Si Special. Buenos noches." Maria swept out the door, Cara closed the thin wood door and turned, the Nino was sound asleep the wooden horse clutched in his tiny hands, moving to pull the blanket up to the child's chin, and she shook her head, 'Pobre!

He will have a hard time with his blue eyes, not just blue, but a brilliant blue that stood out like a sign.

Children with a mixed heritage did not do well, if they survived, on the border. She did not hold the child in contempt, but the parents to bring the Nino into a cruel world... smoothing a hand over the silken curls of the sleeping child she sighed.

This child was different; he had a special spark to him. He had a defiant soul... he would need it.

Cara had heard rumors that the boy's true father was a rich gringo California rancher, but he did not want the mestizo. When he told his wife the child would have to go... the mother ran away in the night with her hijo. The man deserved nothing for being so cruel to an innocent child.

Well it was not her problem; the few pesos Senora Maria gave her helped put food on her own child's table.

Pulling a chair near the lamp Cara picked up her sewing, she hummed a lullaby to dispel the quiet.

The child moved once with a small whimper, his dreams turning troubling. However, his innocent mind did not understand. Strong arms departing in the night... a laughing face... Poppa... fading from his young mind.

He clutched the wooden horse, the last vestige of a loving father, to his thin chest... 'Poppa' he called out with a sigh and was swept away into innocent slumber.

_the end_

_solista_

_Oct. 2013_


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